


It's Not Coincidence

by KyberHearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: First Impressions, First Meeting, M/M, SpiritAssassin Week, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberHearts/pseuds/KyberHearts
Summary: Chirrut's stunned by and attracted to the tall, lanky, and proud Baze Malbus, who just happened to be a member of the Temple of the Kyber. Stranded at NiJedha and armed with only his staff, he hopes to find a purpose as a Guardian of the Whills.After watching Chirrut attack a merchant in the middle of a marketplace, Baze isn't too sure.A Rogue One story about first impressions





	It's Not Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> \---  
> For Spiritassassin Week  
> Day One: First Impressions

It began with the crack of a whip against leathery, feathered hide.

And then in the next moment, the long-haired boy was left to choke on billowing dust, arid air, and the cold sunshine that drenched the lonely moon. He squinted at the Varactyls, large and beastly and beautiful, as they swaddled away much faster than it’d felt when riding on them. The dragonmounts and their whipping riders disappeared into the horizon without so much as a second glance at the boy they’d abandoned.

He was alone in a desert that he didn't recognize. His only souvenir: a wooden staff with metal embellishments that stretched as tall as him.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he didn’t feel anguish as he watched the figures melt away into the mountains. Perhaps it was because he was a demon, just as the clan had rumored. That would explain the emptiness. That would explain his electric blue eyes amidst a brown-eyed home.

Being a demon would explain the pulses and the waves and the energy that each and every living being produced in his vision. There were none now because of how the desert shriveled life, but he could still feel it beneath his fingertips. He called this imagery  **It** , for lack of a better name. These sensations, as if a summer’s mirage had solidified and grabbed your hand, were his and his alone to possess.

Some say blessed. Other, cursed. Both justified sending the youth to the Holy City of NiJedha.

Now he turned his gaze to the far off civilization, the only sense of life for miles and miles around.  **It** pulsed from the city.  **It** whispered.

_ Start walking, Chirrut _ .

He tightened his hold on the prized staff, and began walking towards NiJedha.

As he neared, and then entered the city, he realized that it was small but condensed with so much noise and action. Even his clan, nomadic families, would stretch over a huge expanse of land. It appeared that NiJedha was squashed on this plateau despite the vast, surrounding desert.

NiJedha was also very rude. Chirrut muttered under his breath and felt  **It** squirm as he was shoved around by bustling merchants and their customers. Hardly anyone paid attention to the young boy with a staff. He was dressed like a traveler, with scuffed trousers and sturdy boots. A beggar sitting under an arch contemplated robbing the boy when he had lost himself in some corner, but then caught sight of startling blue eyes, and checked himself.

Chirrut stopped in front of a merchant’s table covered with a stained muslin cloth and rusted trinkets. He couldn’t imagine a single use for any of the items. He nodded at the vendor, a slim and scaly alien he did not recognize. “You here to buy something?” the vendor hissed, running a forked tongue over its razor sharp canines.

Chirrut saw  **It** , and how the reptilian alien almost seemed to repulse the waves. With this, he knew that the alien was a rather bad-tempered individual. From his silk green clothes and a gems drilled into the horns on the alien’s crest, he guessed that the alien also prided his wealth.

“Are you listening?”

“No,” said Chirrut. “Well, I don’t have any units.”

The merchant snorted. “Then scram. Stop wasting my time.”

“Where’s the temple?”

His eyes seem to bug out. “Are you kidding me? I’ve got business.”

Chirrut looked around dramatically. The bazaar was buzzing with noise, but this was the only table without customers. “Wow, I had no idea.”

“Okay, now you’re really getting on my-” he said something in another tongue, but Chirrut observed how  **It** began to congregate around the merchant. It moved erratically, jerking and chasing away milder pulses. The merchant moved around his table and unsheathed a jeweled knife from a belt across its flat chest. “I  _ said _ -”

_ Crack! _

Wood against scales.

Chirrut stepped away, poised for another attack with a balanced stance. He braced the staff at his side; standing at barely five feet tall, he towered over the half-unconscious merchant with blood dribbling on its jewels and green silk clothes. The marketplace was no stranger to violence, but this created a kind of still over the audience.

He was all too aware of the eyes on him. Blood pumped in his ears. His eyes flicked side to side, seeing  **It** flutter and recede from each individual. Most pulsed with their breaths; some of them skimmed the ground and recoiled when Chirrut glanced at the person.

He tensed as a tall, lanky figure stepped out from the crowd. The youth, dressed in simple dark blue robes and pants, chewed his lip. “You want to see the Temple?” he asked Chirrut.

Chirrut faltered. “Y-Yeah.”

“Come with me.”

Before Chirrut could speak or move, another merchant in the crowd, a human, hissed, “Baze, he just attacked a Cha’a! What the hell are you thinking?”

Chirrut turns his gaze back on the teen. Now he has a name to the face. Baze, with a shaved scalp and a face that loved to smile. A large scar danced down the left side of his face. His ears stuck out prominently. His eyes, dark brown, flicked to the side occasionally, involuntarily.

“It’ll be fine,” Baze waved his hand, and then coolly looked at Chirrut. “Anyone who wants to see the Temple will have their chance. Now come on, kid.” Chirrut flushed. Baze didn’t notice. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes and headed to an alleyway. Chirrut followed, the crowd and  **It** parting before him silently.

_ Trust him _ , something whispered to him. Chirrut narrowed his eyes at Baze and saw ripples of calm energy. He was confident, brave. Chirrut’s heart lurched ever so slightly. This person had such a unique energy signature.  **It** was faint, but it was there.

They strolled under bridges and past brawling children in the street. Through aromatic air and conversations in dozens of different dialects. The road was unpaved yet felt unnatural to Chirrut, who walked his whole life on rock desert terrain. Just when Chirrut thought they’d reached the end of the city, there were more living units and bazaars.

“What’s your name?” Baze asked briskly.

“Chirrut.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Weird. I’m Baze Malbus.” His smile stretched ear to ear, and Chirrut stared, wide-eyed at how  **It** rolled off in waves of smooth arrogance. It was not threatening, but almost overwhelming. “Where are you from?”

“Nomad clan. Somewhere north.”

Baze snorted. “Explains why you’re so pale.”

Chirrut bristled and blustered. “Excuse me?”

“What’s with your eyes?”

“They’re blue, I guess.”

A horde of young teens barreled past. NiJedha natives celebrate the end of the day with drinking and festivities. Baze seemed totally disinterested in them, despite being likely their same age. He pulled out a couple of smokes from his pocket and was about to hand one to Chirrut when he paused and asked, “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Ooh.” Baze stuck a cig between his lips and borrowed a match from someone walking past. The rest of the cigarettes returned to his pocket.

Chirrut, rather glumly, guessed that Baze must have been years older than Chirrut. Perhaps he was even in his early twenties. There were older people in his clan - _ not your clan anymore _ \- who would smoke before every evening meal. The smell would burn his nostrils.

But Baze?

His cigarettes were even  _ worse _ . They sent a plume of ash that stung Chirrut’s eyes and choked his lungs and made his tongue feel heavy and sooty. Chirrut coughed wildly and distanced himself from the taller youth. Baze shrugged and kept smoking.

Chirrut with no last name was pretty simple to figure out, Baze thought. He only reacted. He didn’t think. He was only a year younger than Baze at sixteen, and he had dared to attack a carnivorous Cha’a with only a stick. Reckless. Had tunnel vision. And that staff- if Baze wasn’t careful, he was sure Chirrut’s next swing would be for him.

They finally reached the city outskirts and left behind the aching noise. Baze loved the city, but at the same time it grabbed all of his attention and left him exhausted at the end of the day. “We get a lot of orphans from nomadic clans,” Baze says before flicking his short cigarette away. Chirrut finally took a deep breath of air.

“I’m not an orphan,” Chirrut mumbled.

“What?”

“My parents are alive.”

“Then where are they?”

Chirrut shifted his gaze to the ground. “They left me here. They told me to go and join the Temple.”

Baze nearly stopped in his tracks and let out a short chuckle. “You can’t just  _ join _ the Temple. People can find refuge for a week, maybe two, but not a full-time membership to the Temple of the Kyber. It takes  _ years _ .”

_ Why did he have to sound so arrogant?  _ Chirrut thought sourly. “But aren’t you a member?”

A grin lighted on Baze’s lean, flat face. “Born into it. I was  _ destined _ to be a guardian.” Baze said proudly.

_ Again _ . With the stressed words, the intonation that being a part of the Temple was the best thing ever… Chirrut dug his nails in his palm.  _ Vain! Smug!  _ Despite this, Chirrut couldn’t help but admit to himself that Baze was incredibly handsome and charming. As he looked at Baze, he felt  **It** around his head soften and paint the world a little softer, a little softer. Baze’s voice, as haughty as it was, spelled confidence and made each of his words crisp and strong.

Chirrut finally imagined studying at the Temple. With Baze. Together.

“We’re here.”

He blinked.

They stood at the mouth of a small mountain carved delicately with pillars and arches and ornaments. Baze hardly gave Chirrut a moment to appreciate the architecture and headed into the dark, cool tunnels that stretched throughout the mountain. As they entered and descended, more and more people in similar blue robes began to appear and mill about.

Chirrut’s gaze often drifted off to stare at what others could not:  **It,** mellow and placid. Resting. Hardly active. Furthermore, there seemed to be energy oozing from the walls, especially as they went further and further into the mountain. Chirrut’s fingers tingled.

“We’re three hundred strong,” Baze told Chirrut, breaking him out of his trance. “Warriors, monks. Guardians of the Whill.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Who gets to be a Guardian?” Chirrut asks, curiousity etching his voice.

Baze smirks.  _ Damn,  _ Chirrut thinks absentmindedly. “As long as you’re approved by the elders and receive proper initiation in the crystal caves, a Guardian can be any species or gender. If you’re willing to sacrifice what’s outside-” he jerked a thumb back at the entrance, a speck in the distance- “you’ve made it past the hardest step.”

“You have to leave behind family?”

“Sure.”

Before Chirrut could ask anymore, they reached a stone room where a woman with a strip of red cloth atop her blue was speaking to a youth. When she spied Baze and Chirrut, she ended the conversation and greeted the two. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Chirrut.

“Master-” Baze began, but was cut off.

She grabbed Chirrut’s staff and examined it closely. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

Chirrut was taken back. “It’s mine. My clan gave it to me.” He held out a hand. “Give it back.”

The woman considered it. Then she smacked Baze on the shoulder with the staff. “Ow! What the-”

“You’ve been smoking. Throw them away.” She turned back to Chirrut, ignoring Baze’s crestfallen, embarrassed grumbling. “Did you steal this?”

“What? No!”

Suddenly, the shadows flickered and the staff in her hands changed - _ no, that can’t be right, _ Chirrut thinks- and it morphed into something like a bowcaster, except narrower and without ammunition. It hummed and gleamed a brilliant white.

The woman studied the newly formed weapon. “It’s decrepit, ancient, and almost doesn’t work. But this is a lightbow. The Temple had only one robbery in its entire existence. Someone broke into the armory and stole precisely one lightbow.”

“You think that I stole that?” Chirrut asked exasperatedly.

“No, but I think someone in your clan did, and then gave it to you before you made your way here to the Holy City.” The woman held out the lightbow and Chirrut gingerly took it back. But then she had grabbed his chin and pulled him close. She stared at his blue, blue eyes which flickered and twitched and screamed of panic. But beneath all of that young fear was something old and something ancient.

She released him.

“Look, lady,” Chirrut said angrily, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re trying to do.”

She ran a hand over her shaved scalp. “We call it the Force.”

“What?”

“You’ve never heard of the Force?” Baze asked softly.

“No!”

“It’s the- well, it’s the presence that surrounds us all. Every living thing is connected with the Force.” Baze nodded as he saw Chirrut’s eyes widen in realization. “You’ve been seeing it, too?”

“Not only that,” said the woman. “But his sight is incredibly sharp. He’s just as Force-sensitive as any of the elders. You’re here to study, Chirrut? I can arrange for your apprenticeship.”

“Wait, what?’ Baze exclaimed. “He just- I thought-”

“The Force doesn’t throw us a boy and his lightbow at the Temple without a reason.” She studied Chirrut’s stunned expression. “Take some time to think about it. Make sure you really want to study with us.” Chirrut knew, he just  _ knew _ , that the woman was absolutely certain that he would accept. There was not a shred of doubt in her… Force.

“I-” Chirrut stepped back from the woman and Baze. “I need some air.” He bolted for the light of the outside world.

Because the woman might have no question about his future, but Chirrut had all the reason to doubt.

He sat on one of the rocks outside the Temple entrance, the lightbow at his feet. He’d tried to wrench it back into shape but to no avail. It kept humming and glowing a mysterious white color. He tucked his hair behind his ears and covered his face. It was cold here on Jedha, and even colder inside of the Temple.

_ The Force _ . Now he had a name to the energy. But it also cemented the idea that yes, he was different than his clan, that he was  _ destined  _ for something else, in Baze Malbus’s words. It was his people that abandoned him here, the ones that called him a blessing and a curse in one breath. He was exiled, for all he knew.

But there were others like him.

Baze dropped to the ground besides Chirrut and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how you did it, but I guess you just might be a Temple Guardian. Where’d you even get that lightbow? Who gave it to you?”

“No one.” Chirrut glanced at him. “I won it in a fighting festival. So that lady’s wrong, no one gave it to me. Any other person could’ve won the- whatever it is.”

“You really think that?” Baze asked softly.

They sat in some silence and the night fell and the stars began to glimmer in the sky. It was chilly, but both were natives to the moon. Chirrut found himself thinking about Baze more and more, and couldn’t help but look over and stare.

And sometimes, Baze would look over at the same time.

There was something soulful in the boy’s icy blue eyes. He finally realized that his impression of Chirrut as an angry, belligerent youth was off its mark. Baze had limited contact with the Force and had to really focus to sense it, but he felt it pulse from Chirrut in ways he’s never felt before. It was attractive, it was alluring. It spoke of power, more than Baze would ever possess. He’d be lying if he wasn’t the slightest bit jealous.

“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” said Baze at last. “You bullied your way to the Temple, you shouted at a Guardian, and now you’re going to be one of the Temple apprentices. Do you know how rare that is? Fuck, even I had to cheat my way by being born.”

Chirrut said nothing.

“Chirrut.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be born.”

He looked over. “What do you mean?”

Baze tucked his legs close to his body. “Well, Guardians are supposed to leave behind the outside world, right? That means you’re not supposed to really be affectionate with anyone else. You can’t start a family. It’s like the Jedi.”

“What’s Jedi?”

Baze stared. “What’s- okay, that’s a conversation for another day.” He stretched his back. “The point is, I’m only here because a Guardian decided that loving someone else was worth scorn and backlash from the community.”

Chirrut sniffed. “That’s a dumb rule.”

“Yeah. Well, the point is to devote yourself fully to the Force.”

“But I’ve felt the Force around families. Lovers. Siblings.” Chirrut argued. Baze listened closely. “It’s strong, it’s stronger than anything else. If the Temple preaches that I can’t love someone else with all of my heart- then I don’t want to be a part of it!”

“I think you missed the message behind me ‘not supposed to be born’ and all,” Baze chuckled.

“Then what?”

“Everything happens. A Guardian fell in love. I’m here. You won a contest. You’re here. It’s not coincidence that you’re Force-sensitive, happen to have a lightbow, and I found you here out of all days I decided to go to the bazaar at the furthest point of NiJedha.” Baze clasped a hand on Chirrut’s knee.

And he felt the slightest twinge in the Force around Chirrut, of something more powerful than a usual sensation.

“When I first met you, I thought you were an irritating piece of shit.”

“Wow, thanks.” Chirrut rolled his eyes. “I thought you were an arrogant bastard.”

“You’d be unironically correct.”

They stared at each other, and then burst out laughing. That was the cue, that was the spark. Chirrut stood up and grabbed his lightbow. Baze showed him how to revert it back to a staff. The taller youth felt that pulse in the Force again when their hands touched.

“Chirrut, you feel that?” Baze asked, confused.

“Hmm?”

“You know.” Baze grabbed Chirrut’s hand again. “There it is again. Fuck, it’s strong.” And then he looked up at Chirrut’s bright red blushing face. “I get it.”

Baze refused to let go of Chirrut’s hand and they wrestled for the next few minutes. He was fighting for that feeling, for the Force that often escaped his grasp. Chirrut, on the other hand, was almost drowning in this feeling of unabashed affection. This was exactly what the Temple guarded against. This was exactly why Chirrut trusted in the Force more than anything or anyone else.

“Listen,” said Baze. “I know the Temple can have dumb rules. But according to Master Îmwe, you’re incredibly Force-sensitive. You could probably convince them that, you know, love isn’t shit. And if you’re still unsure about becoming a Guardian...”

“No,” said Chirrut. “I know what I want. I’m going to become a Guardian.”

Baze’s eyes lit up. “Then let’s go inside and find Master Îmwe. She’s probably going to be your mentor, which means you can take her last name. That happens with some of the apprentices. And there’s five of us, including me. You’re probably the youngest.”

“Well, how old are you?” Chirrut asked.

It was only months later, during sparring practice, when Baze finally admitted that he was only a year older than Chirrut, and found himself flat on his back. “You’re so much taller than me,” Chirrut moaned, aghast. His head was shaved, he was adorned in dark blue robes, and he held his lightbow: the only souvenir of his past and a treasure of the present. “How are you only a year older?”

“Do you, maybe-” Baze winced. “Can you help me up?”

He grabbed Chirrut’s hand.


End file.
